


louis is the teacher's hot son

by sweetlyinfinite



Series: things i deserted [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Best Song Ever, Alternate Universe - High School, BUT ONLY THE CHARACTERS, Harry Styles is Marcel, M/M, both louis and his BSE character feat as does niall, but not he's harry but his character has the same look and is a nerd, did not get to the point where i worked in liams dude, i feel bad for these i literally did abandon them, thats it, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlyinfinite/pseuds/sweetlyinfinite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is the teacher's hot son who somehow manages to find reasons to pop into his father's classroom and Harry is kind of a huge nerd with broken glasses and an unfortunate crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	louis is the teacher's hot son

**Author's Note:**

> my summary made this sound okay hahahaha 
> 
> just wanted to say that whenever I read the title I always say to myself 'Louis is the hot teacher's son' and im like ew no do you remember what he looked like in the BSE video as not himself no thanks
> 
> Louis is not in school, just a heads up.

> _im hot i know and so is harry my boyfriend   _(a friendly reminder)

 

 

Harry doesn’t like English. He doesn’t like it because he’s good at it and his teacher is annoying and rude and Harry doesn’t like English, really, just because he can. English, it seems, as a language decides to love Harry in the entirety of every aspect it has. Whether it’s narratives or poems or song lyrics or fucking essays, Harry’s so fucking good at it that it’s fucking annoying and Harry fucking hates it. (Hates it because it puts so much fucking pressure on him to keep getting top marks and try awfully hard at something that comes naturally to him, which may not seem like something bad but it’s shitty, so.)

That and the fucking nerdy glasses of his which broke so he had to tape them together that he has to wear (he can't afford contacts).

Basically, Harry thinks like this. He thinks in swear words and sarcasm and confidence. Harry in real life is nervous and smart and un-witty and unattractive and that’s how it is. He still doesn’t understand why, when he’s getting awards and special achievements and pictures in newspapers and on the internet, he has to be able to comprehend a task and fulfil it as much as he can and have that be too much for the fucking grading system.

So, to reiterate, Harry does not like his English teacher at all and that would be fine except he has English Extension II as well as the AP English class, so it’s sort of insane how much he sees him.

This is relative because it’s Tuesday and Harry’s barely awake for first period. He has English so his face is frowned and he’s yawning and so very ready to die.

He and his class are waiting for Mr Tomlinson to come in. When he does he looks as bad as he does every day and he stinks of coffee and cologne. Harry’s nose wrinkles involuntarily and his only other friend in the class, Zayn, snorts quietly.

Mr Tomlinson wastes a few minute shuffling around his desk and setting his things down and then he turns around, face the definition of, ‘ _I have somewhere better to be and I'm wasting my life here_ ’. He leans on the edge of his desk, eyes on Zayn in case he decides to make any other sounds. He doesn’t and Mr Tomlinson nods.

“All _right_. Good morning class. Today we’ll be doing something rather simple. We’ll be writing short stories. One to be exact. You can base it on whatever the hell you want, so long as it displays a wide range of the techniques we’ve been drilling into your skulls since you first came here. It is a short story, yes, but it must be at least six pages long and you should definitely not attempt—”

There’s a knock on the door.

Mr Tomlinson waits.

The person knocks again and shouts, “Who the _fuck_ —”

Mr Tomlinson raises his eyebrows quickly and shouts back, “Come in.”

And then a man is walking (strolling, swaggering, swaying, strutting, whatever tickles your fancy) and he has a tight white shirt paired with a red beanie and tight black jeans and Harry dies (except he doesn’t because the squirming and dick twitch proves he is very much alive which he’s sort of horrified by). He has a packet of rainbow coloured white-board markers in his left hand and skateboard in his other, tapping the board in a mindless rhythm on the floor.

The man stretches out his hand with a smile that’s more mocking than happy and says, “You left these.”

Mr Tomlinson coughs and accepts the markers. “Thank you. You can leave now.”

The man appears to not hear him, instead turning to look at a full class of English students and his eyes are slightly lined in eyeliner and his arms are covered in tattoos though his neck and collarbones are only littered. His bottom lip is pierced, ear piercings filled with simple black studs with tiny cones of, most likely, black rubber. Framing directly between his collarbones is a silver necklace of Jesus on the cross and, well, _damn_.

After Harry’s hands have gone to his cheeks to feel the warmth radiating through them, he notices the man’s _actual_ eyes. They’re blue and vibrant and have a smudge of green like his own bursting out from behind the pupil and he’s gorgeous and Harry may be in love.

At least his cock is in heaven. (He’s still mortified by this. Zayn’s laughing.)

The man’s eyes drift to Harry and he’s grinning wickedly as they do so, like he can feel Harry’s guilty hard-on through the air, and the man winks and Harry literally feels so many girls’ panties drop as he does so.

“Louis, I wasn’t joking, get out.”

Louis, it would seem, salutes Mr Tomlinson, licks his lips and then he’s gone, leaving behind a flurry of girls fanning themselves and whispers of, _oh my god_ , _was he even real?_

There should be a few guys complaining or whatever but they're all just sitting there in awe, except for Harry who’s looking at Mr Tomlinson so his dick softens and Zayn who’s looking at Harry and laughing incredulously.

“Well,” Mr Tomlinson states, and the class blinks together and flick their eyes to him, “we’ll just ignore that interruption in favour of…”

But no one’s listening because they're all still thinking about the man Louis.

 

An hour later Mr Tomlinson has managed to get everyone to stop talking about Louis and begin to draft their stories. All Harry’s done is describe Louis’ eyes over and over and over again until he ran out of words and wrote ‘blue’ to fill and entire page. It’s senseless but when Harry glances over at Zayn he’s drawing like he isn't focusing but the picture is amazing, a detailed sketch of a girl looking like a female version of Zayn in a sharp pencil skirt and glasses, and Harry lets him go.

 

The next day word’s gotten all around the school and now all anyone’s talking about is Louis. There are so many theories on who Louis is, such as Mr Tomlinson’s boy-toy, a boy Mr Tomlinson (who is magically a pimp) whores out and lives with, Mr Tomlinson’s cleaner’s boyfriend, Mr Tomlinson’s sister’s pool boy, Mr Tomlinson’s dealer, a man Mr Tomlinson picked up on the street when he was young and vulnerable, and so on.

None of it makes sense and all of it involves sex which creeps the fuck out of Harry, until they’re back in English and Mr Tomlinson stands up and folds his hairy arms across his chest.

“So, I heard from almost everyone who has seen me today that I'm either disgusting, a pedophile, ‘rad’, or insane. And, I’m guessing it’s because of the man who came in here yesterday, yes?”

The class mumbles yes’s and Mr Tomlinson sighs. “That man is my son, Louis Tomlinson. And please, if you can, somehow attempt to manage the amount of rumours about my son and I being sexually involved. It’s disturbing.”

Harry blinks and Zayn chokes on a yawn.

 

They don’t see Louis for three weeks and everyone’s sort of forgotten about him. But this time when he comes back he’s wearing Nike brand sneakers, loose basketball shorts and a tight black tank top, allowing him to be both sweaty and gorgeous. He doesn’t have any eyeliner on this time and his hair is redder than before.

It’s during the middle of a rant about how most young popstars are getting into drugs and whatever else that Louis comes bursting through the door. He huffs and the class is frozen as they stare at his fucking _arms_ and _glistening_ _cheekbones._ Good god.

Mr Tomlinson rolls his eyes. “What are you doing, Louis?”

“I—shit, I just got off the phone with mum and you’re apparently a complete dick! You cheated on her with fucking _Harvey_?”

“Louis, now is not the time,” he grounds out, cheeks going red and eyes angrier than Zayn the time Harry spilt juice all over Zayn’s latest picture.

Louis’ stopped puffing for breath and shakes his head. “Does it look like I give a fuck we’re in your classroom when you fucked these kids’ principal? Like, what the _fuck_ dad?”

Everybody seems to get it then; that their teacher cheated on his wife with their male principal; that this is something they shouldn’t be hearing. Also that Louis is even hotter with red, sweaty hair. Nobody moves.

“Louis, please, get _out_.”

Louis licks his lips and wipes his forehead, then places a hand on his hip and _what_ because it’s completely unfair how attractive he looks while doing that. “Jesus Christ, dad, if it’s about me swearing I’ll say frick.”

Mr Tomlinson gets up from the chair at his desk, his ears red and he takes his glasses off. He walks right up to his son and Louis just looks at him and doesn’t care. He bends down slightly to reach Louis’ ear and whispers something harshly.

Harry adjusts his glasses and his eyes are wide. Then, rather unfortunately, he feels it.

 _No, no, no, no, no, please no_ , he thinks desperately.

He sneezes.

Everyone in the room whips their heads around to look at him, even Zayn whose eyes are wider than Harry’s were. Harry’s face is flushing and he buries his head in his palms and doesn’t look up. When he does, eventually, no one but Zayn’s in the class, and Zayn’s sketching and only says, “It’s lunch,” when Harry asks.

 

Someone managed to snap a picture of Louis when he’d first came in the second time. It becomes people’s background picture on phones and laptops. Personally, Harry uses it to look at as he palms and then feels terrible after he’s come.

 

Harry’s being teased the third time they see Louis. It’s lunch time, and Harry and Zayn are sitting at the library. Zayn’s muttering something about almost being finished as he draws and Harry uses his laptop to research where he can buy a new sweater vest cheaply.

Niall Horan, the principal’s son, and Niall’s best friend Liam Payne walk in, laughing loudly at something on Liam’s phone. They’re pretty cool lads—not that Harry knows them personally but from what he’s seen and heard, that statement rings true. He’s had exactly one conversation with Liam about what kind of music Zayn listened to, which he claims was because he overheard something Zayn was listening to the other day and wanted to know the genre to look for it.

Harry called bullshit, but stuttered out the right answer before ducking his head with a smile and walking away.

Across the library, Harry looks up to realise Niall has seen them and view as he nudges Liam.

They stroll over, eyes glinting under the yellow lights on the library and Harry feels nervous. He feels as though he’s going to die or something similar to that and he doesn’t exactly know how he feels about that, so instead of working it out he flinches when they stop walking and taps Zayn’s elbow to get his attention.

Zayn’s eyes snap up to meet Liam’s and the contrast of their shades of brown make Harry wonder how pretty they would be next to each other. Then, he’s being hauled up and he can't see anything at all because it’s all blurry and immediately a headache starts behind his left eye. He’s then dropped and there’s people speaking and yelling almost and Harry just moves his hands along the ground to try and find his glasses.

“Give me back my glasses!” he cries and he moves his hands to feel something looks like it’s skin.

It is skin, an arm, but it feels softer than Harry knows Zayn’s to be and it looks lighter but still golden and Harry says, “Hello? Who’m I touching? Zayn?”

“I’ve no idea who that is, mate, but I’m Louis. Three lads just left after two other lads, if one of them’s Zayn.”

Harry jumps back, his hands away from Louis. “Do you have my glasses?”

“I don’t, sorry. Are you okay? Were they going to hurt you?” Louis asks and his voice is sincere, even if Harry can't see his face.

“Maybe? I, erm, sometimes they don’t. But, like, yeah. Are you sure Zayn’s not here?”

Louis shakes his head. “Dicks. I forgot how rude kids are. Well, y’know, I'm basically only two years older, but still. School kids. I don’t know, mate. Who’s Zayn?”               

“He’s, ehm, tanned? And his hair does the…” Harry pauses and makes a swooping gesture at his forehead, “thing.”

Louis ah’s because he knows what it means. He says, “Ah, sick lad yeah I saw him. Then yes, Zayn was one of the three after the two. He’s pretty fit, don’t you think?”

Harry blushes. “Yeah.”

“Reckon I could shag him?”

Harry chokes, and inside his head that little voice is laughing wildly, a great booming sound. “Uh, I don’t, I mean, he doesn’t, like, oh, I'm, I.”

Louis cackles. “I didn’t mean it, I was joking. Sorry. What’s your name?”

“Harry,” he says, and the name must be a godsend or something because the Harry he was only a moment ago is disappearing into the depths of his mind and he's _Harry_ , the type of person who deserves the name.

He stands up taller, straightens his shoulders and smiles blindingly where he thinks he can make out the blur of Louis.

Louis makes a little sound in the back of his throat and then there’s a voice shouting, “Harry! Mate! I’ve got, I’ve got your glasses.”

It’s Zayn, of course it is, and when he comes waving.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to contact me at seasideghoul.tumblr.com if you either want to chat or you want to use this? anything I post in this series is available for the taking and/or modifying if you like, just talk to me first. otherwise, thanks for getting to the end
> 
> (I had really high hopes for this one it was gonna be sick I cant believe I let this go before I finished it, it makes me wish I could still write something other than vague and shitty dialogue oh my god)


End file.
